A Glimpse of Contrast
by mtfrosty
Summary: Collection of drabbles exploring the world of contrast, where one person is hated, the other is loved, and some things are taken apart while others are put together. More to come...
1. To Turn Away

_So, I took down my other story "Lessons from the Blade" and replaced it with this one. I don't think I quite had the other one to the point I wanted it, so I'm going to work on it a bit more. This one, though, is along similar lines. Just another collection of drabbles, short and thought-provoking hopefully. These drabbles won't appear in any sort of order since they are, in fact, drabbles. ;) So don't be confused if I hop around the Star Wars Universe in a seemingly random pattern that makes no sense. Each one is meant to stand alone._

_Hope you enjoy! :D_

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><p>He hugged her, long and hard. Little arms circled around a thin frame, promising to never let go. He would always remember her. Always. And one day, he would free her, so that she could actually live how she was supposed to live. She had given him everything. He figured he could get her life back for her.<p>

"I love you."

I Jedi was not supposed to love, but he didn't know this.

He gave his mother one last squeeze and turned away. He swore to himself it wouldn't be the last time.

~~OOO~~

Yellow-tinged eyes glared up at the man above him. The man he used to call his father.

No more. Never was.

That man had taken everything from him. His legs, his arm, his mother, his wife, freedom, happiness, his sense of justice… the list could go on forever. One day he would repay him for his crimes. He would take away everything the man had once held dear and then he would kill him. His so-called father deserved to die, and he figured it would only be right if the man fell at his hand.

"I hate you!"

And he did. To the very depths of his being, he hated that man.

A Jedi was not supposed to hate, and he knew this. But he was no longer a Jedi.

His legs caught fire and he knew nothing after that. Only that his father had yelled something back and then turned away for the last time.

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><p><em>Please leave a review if you can spare a few seconds! <em>

_Contrast: To stand in opposition; to exhibit difference, unlikeness, or opposition of qualities._


	2. To Take it Apart and Put it Together

_Enjoy!_

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><p>Shatterpoints. He saw them, he knew them, he lived them. He was the only one that could do so, and he both loved and disliked that fact.<p>

Everything had a shatterpoint; it was just a matter of studying and figuring out where that point was, whether it be blaringly obvious, or barely existent. Over the years, he had perfected that art. If one has the ability, one must master that ability, and master it he did, to a startling degree.

He became an expert at picking apart the enemy. There weren't many engagements where he didn't emerge the victor, having taken a few precious moments to search out that particular point where the other side was most vulnerable. That single crack that would engulf entire armies if stepped upon just right. Any separatist army that went against him was comprised entirely of fools. They must have known they would be destroyed in a matter of minutes. Everything had a shatterpoint. Everything.

And yet, for all of his esteemed ability, the Jedi Master missed one.

It was one of those blaringly obvious ones that had been staring him straight in the eyes for more years than he cared to remember. Too many years.

It was too late now, because even though shatterpoints are, in fact, _points_, they have to be pushed at the right time. Skywalker's time had come and gone. The young man was no longer vulnerable, and as a result, the dark side would win. Skywalker had been the only crack in its armor, the only one that would split.

He saw that now. Saw it for what it was: defeat. He had been defeated before he had even begun to fight. Tricked, misguided, manipulated, led astray, however it might be said.

He missed one. The most important one.

And so, without further pause, Mace Windu ignited his legendary purple saber, the one with the deep, almost black hue. A mix of red and blue, signifying the line that he walked every time he thumbed it on. He drew it and pointed it at the monster grinning beneath a dark cloak, the one that thought he had won.

Mace would concede the victory... but not to that _thing._ This victory belonged to Skywalker, and Skywalker only. A shatterpoint missed is a dangerous thing. Mace knew this as well, for as he struck at the monster he knew he could defeat - this one had many shatterpoints - he felt the approach of the coming storm.

How he had missed it, he would never know.

~~OOO~~

Pieces. The universe was made of millions, if not trillions of pieces. He saw every single one, knew them all like the back of his hand, _lived_ them. His master may have been able to clearly see the present moment, but he saw a collection of those moments, a masterpiece woven together with intricate detail.

It was a gift that he both cherished and loathed. To put something together could be incredibly satisfying or terribly painful. But he couldn't help it. He was a master at it, fitting together all of the pieces that others could only hope to get a mere glimpse of. Every jagged edge or smooth corner was a sting on his arm, a tingle in his spine. Everything fit, one way or another. It all fit together.

He acquired something of a reputation, one that the enemy feared. It was not a fear born from pain, or a fear born from anxiety. It was, rather, a fear born from exhaustion. The enemy hated to go against him, especially the foolish ones who didn't know any better. They would end up fighting a battle that went on for hours, or possibly days on end, one that they knew they would eventually lose, no matter how long it took. It might be a battle of wits, fought not with blades or blasters, but cunning words instead. Or maybe, on that rare occasion, he might decide that it's in his better interest to engage in a duel of skill, a skill that involved lightsabers, tanks, starfighters, and far too many deaths for him to bear. Either way, it was all a giant chess match, made up of hundreds of moves made by both sides, moves that he already knew.

Everything fit together, one way or another, and he knew how it all fit.

All of it, right down to the way Anakin Skywalker fit. The feeling was always there. A feeling of dread that he had pushed away for years on end, determined to ignore the one piece that pained him the most.

Now that it had pushed passed his denial, it was too late. The piece had vanished. The masterpiece was incomplete, gone, never to be finished. It hurt, to realize that. It wasn't that he had forgotten this particular piece or that he hadn't seen it.

No. Neither of those.

He had pushed it aside, close enough that he could see it, but far enough away to where it was just out of his reach.

For all of his expertise, all of the wisdom and cleverness he was known for, he had neglected the most important piece of the puzzle. Every other piece might as well have still been scattered to the farthest reaches of the Outer Rim.

And so, without further pause, Obi-wan Kenobi ignited his blade, a blue so light that it was almost the color of snow right before it touched the ground. A color that signified what sort of life he had wanted to live. _Still_ wanted to live.

He gripped it with knuckles that were close to the same color, pointing the weapon at the boy hidden beneath a dark mask. The piece he had let go, pushed away, wanted to get back. The boy that thought he had lost.

Obi-wan would concede the point. There was always a side that won and always a side that lost, but his brother was neither of those. He was only a piece of the larger puzzle, a pawn in a playing field of knights and kings.

The Dark's trump card.

Because the Dark saw how everything fit as well. It knew which piece was missing from the Force's masterpiece just as well as Obi-wan did.

He had forgotten that two knew how to play this game that he played so well. And if one side was winning, that must mean that the other one was losing.

And as he stared at the boy flying towards him, the one that caused a small spark of pride to flutter in his chest despite the hatred in those eyes, the one he had given his whole life to, he knew without a doubt that the Dark was winning.

Everything fit together, and up until now, he had managed to connect it all.

One piece had slipped from his grasp. Only one. He knew which one it was, had known all along, but that hardly mattered.

He was losing.

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><p><em>Review if you can spare a moment! Please and thank you! :)<em>

_Contrast: The opposition of varied forms, colors, etc., which by such juxtaposition more vividly express each other's peculiarities._


	3. To See

_Enjoy!_

_Contrast: the difference in luminance and/or color that makes an object (or its representation in an image or display) distinguishable_

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><p>The <em>thing<em> had two blades. Two. Both red and both somehow stained with his father's blood, though only one had actually completed the killing act. His father lay on the cold, metal floor a couple of feet from the ventilation shaft.

The abyss that he was going to send this monster back into. Back to where he had come from. Into the darkness, to the shadow, to a place he would melt into and stick. This apparition of evil had no place in a world of light.

A haze of red separated him from both, the monster and his father. For a second, he was torn as to which he should run to first. His father was dying, and there might be a chance of saving him if he could tend to the wound right away, maybe apply what little healing ability he had to give him just enough to hang on...

_Absurd._ His father was dead. He knew it didn't matter what he did. Besides, that _thing_ would kill him before he took more than half a step.

Hatred. A feeling he wasn't accustomed to, but one that he wholeheartedly welcomed, one that made him wonder - shuddering as he did so - if the ray shield was actually responsible for the red he was seeing. The sound of his own heavy breathing reached his ears and he drowned it out. Drowned everything out.

Everything but himself and the shadow that had just murdered his father. The shield drew back into the walls and he attacked without a word. Only three people existed in his world.

His father, soon to be dead. Himself.

And the _thing._ All he saw was red...

In the coming years, only a select few would know how close Obi-wan Kenobi had come to falling.

~~OOO~~

She had two blades. Two. Both red and somehow, that meant nothing. It might mean more to a Jedi who was facing a Sith for the first time, one whose image of the legendary Dark Side followers would look like her and her alone.

He was not that Jedi. He could make a comparison, and she was nothing like the _thing_. The two blades were stained with the blood of many; he had little doubt of that. She _was_ a Sith, after all. And as much as he hated to stereotype, he knew of few Sith that hesitated to kill when given a reason. Most did so with little reason at all. He knew she was no different in that sense.

She was not the _thing_, though. There was no red haze clouding his vision. A quick glance at his surroundings showed about a dozen clones in various stages of health, all incapacitated. Most would not live to see another day.

There was no choice. To try and save men who would inevitably die within the next few minutes was fruitless. The best he could do was put them to sleep with a Force-suggestion.

He knew she wouldn't allow it, though. Another reason why there was no choice in the matter.

Hatred. He felt it boiling beneath his skin, a smoldering heat that had never been stamped out, only controlled. Even Jedi were not immune to it, something he knew from firsthand experience, something he would never deny no matter what anyone claimed.

He redirected it. To act on it would be foolish, a mistake he would not make twice, especially when confronted with a woman who didn't deserve it.

In that moment, his world shrank to two. Himself.

And her. All he saw was blue... it was in her eyes...

To try and kill her would bring him to that place he never wanted to return to again. That left only one other option.

Save her.

The compassion of Obi-wan Kenobi was not unknown, but he was often thought a fool because of it.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! I'm starving for reviews on this one, so if you could spare a few seconds... please and thank you!<em>


	4. To Weep

_Contrast: one thing that is strikingly dissimilar to another_

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><p>It was loud here. Between the turbulent winds that raced and clashed in the upper levels of the city and the Force screaming in protest, he could hardly make out the sounds coming from the half-dead man propped against the window pane.<p>

Barely, just barely, the last bit of his hoarse cackle reached his ears. At that point it was more of a gurgle, a compromise between a struggle to breath and a victorious chuckle. The Sith Lord turned his hideous features towards him and attempted a grin. A failure considering that his face had been horribly twisted, stretched, and shoved back together again by the unyielding, chaotic energy of his own lightning being turned against him.

The man responsible for such a horrid change was currently dozens of stories below and hundreds of yards away in a broken, mangled pile somewhere, never to move again.

Dead. Mace Windu was dead.

Anakin seemed to just now realize what exactly had happened in the last few minutes. He almost gagged.

The twisted lump of flesh sitting on the edge of what would be a rather dizzying fall grunted in protest and struggled to his feet. Anakin watched him steady himself and then start towards him, seeming to ooze across the floor like blue milk that had thickened and gone bad. Only this monster had never been remotely good in the first place.

Anakin watched him and he did nothing. He couldn't make himself move. The immense guilt of what he'd just done glued his feet in place and all he could do was drop backwards and sit, not even feeling the weight of his Jedi robes settle and pull on his shoulders.

_Padme. She's in danger. I need him..._

Yes. He needed this man, this Sith, this monster. This black hole of stifling, rotting darkness. He needed him and he hated himself for that.

Was this love? What he'd just done? _She wouldn't have wanted me to..._

Outwardly, he was a mess. Anyone could have seen the conflicting emotions, even _heard_ them in the things he was muttering to himself. In the end, he bowed his head and submitted to the darkness pulling at him. He submitted in hopes that she wouldn't suffer and die. _I need him... I need him..._

Was this love?

"Rise, Lord Vader."

He rose and composed himself, seemingly confident that he had made the right decision.

On the inside, he wept.

~~OOO~~

It was quiet here. Between the dimly lit area he was standing in and the eerily blank presence of the Force, he was sure that even the man currently staring at him through half-lidded, sickly yellow eyes could hear his thoughts as clearly as if he'd spoken them.

"Goooood..." he'd wheezed, gurgled, spit out, whatever it was that ancient _thing_ did.

He'd heard him, though. The Force had rumbled ominously, warning him of what he already knew. That this monster was evil in its purest form, and that its manipulating, deceiving words were not to be heard, or even considered.

Unfortunately, Luke felt himself already being pulled at. The Sith was playing a game that he was very, very good at and had been the victor of for many years. A game his father had played and lost.

Luke stared at the man sprawled on the cold, unyielding surface, close to what would surely be a fatal fall. He was a pile of black synthetic armor weave and wires, some of which were sparking and frayed. The result of the blow that had ended the final duel.

And it _would _ be the final duel. The end of it all.

"Take your father's place," the dark one hissed. "Fulfill your destiny."

Power. He would have so much, _did_ have so much. He had just defeated his own father, rumored to be the most powerful wielder of the Force the galaxy had ever seen.

His father...

The wires sparked continuously, drawing his attention towards what was left of the appendage. His eyes flitted to his own prosthetic, over the smooth, flexible material of the glove that covered it. For a brief moment, he wondered how his father had lost that arm to begin with, how he'd ended up more machine than man.

But he knew the answer already, and it surely hadn't been as a powerful Sith Lord, second in command over the entire galaxy.

No. He had been defeated by the light. Crippled forever, never to be whole again.

Until now. Luke could make him whole.

His fist clenched as he turned around and flicked his wrist, sending the lightsaber flying. "Never," he declared through gritted teeth. "I will _never_ turn to the dark side."

Then he knew nothing for the next minute, for the spasms of his muscles caused by the overwhelming jolts of the electrical currents running through him were too painful for him to even think.

_I'm going to die. This is the end..._

It stopped. There was a brilliant flash of light and then everything was silent again. Outwardly, his face betrayed his disbelief. His father was propped against the railing, dark suit smoking and melting in places where it had been thoroughly scorched.

_He's going to die. _

There was no way he was going to live through that. No way. All he could do was share in his last few moments, talk with him, actually _be_ with him for the first time...

And the last time. Sometimes, life was cruel.

"I've got to save you," he stated, desperate for a chance to really know his father. Surely there was something he could do.

_He's going to die._

"You already... have..."

_No,_ the Force whispered, a calm, soothing presence that he knew was light. _He's going to live_.

Outwardly, he watched his father breathe his last breath, felt him go limp in his arms, watched him leave this life forever. His face betrayed none of what he was truly feeling. Sadness, despair, heartache, and in the middle of it all, overwhelming joy. Relief.

Outwardly, there was nothing.

On the inside, he wept. He wept for them both.

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><p><em>I'm craving for reviews! Please do so if you can spare a few seconds! Thanks for reading! :)<em>


	5. To Understand

_Contrast: degree of lightness and darkness_

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><p>"I don't see any of them!"<p>

Yoda's ears subconsciously flattened and he cringed a little at the frustrating declaration. Such anger there. Uncontrolled, it flowed over him in a seemingly random pattern of powerful waves. This from a youngling not even ten standard years old.

The child held a short training saber, blindfolded, clothed in a simple white tunic, and utterly drenched in sweat. The ancient Jedi had observed him for the better part of an hour as he'd flailed this way and that trying to deflect a mere four bolts that were ricocheting off the walls.

He'd seen many of the boy's clan-mates stand up to three times as many weeks ago.

But this child's problem was clear. "Cloud your vision anger will. Use it you should not," he advised.

"What's it matter if I can't see?!"

"See you will if release your frustration you do," Yoda continued. He stood his ground as another wave hit him backed by the sharp sting of irritation. Another blind and unintentional attack.

The blindfold was ripped off not a second later revealing an unruly mop of wet hair that stuck up in spikes. Silvery eyes glared at him, tinges of blue battling with gray. The sight might have been comical in any other situation, but Yoda could not even dredge up the merest of smiles. This child was angry. Very angry. Prone to brief fits of rage at times, and it hurt him to watch. To see such potential, such _light_, get farther away with each frustrating moment.

"I can't _see_ them," the boy repeated. "I can't see them, I can't feel them, and they _hurt_."

He held the child's stare and drew his mouth into a thin line. Then he nodded once and turned away, heading for the exit. "Then you have failed."

There was a moment's pause in which Yoda hobbled over to the door. Old, gnarled digits had just waved the barrier aside when a sniffle broke the silence and stopped him in his tracks. One ear twitched in response and he turned his head ever-so-slightly to the left.

The blind attacks had ceased. The Force was merely a still pool now, disturbed only by the child's quiet sobs. Ripples that washed over the ancient master in a soft flood of relief.

And Yoda truly was relieved. He turned, almost smiling. "Understand you do, young one?"

The boy nodded without a word, even as the tears continued to fall. A few caught the training saber, sizzling and sparking as they evaporated.

"How can Yoda help then, hmm?"

Wet, clear eyes rose, still a silvery gray, but with more blue this time. Hopeful. "I - I want t-t-to hear it."

Yoda blinked. An unusual request from one so young, and yet it sent a chill down his spine. It wasn't a bad feeling, but one that finally made him smile, almost grin. "Then meditate we must, young Obi-wan. Hear the Force, you will, but only if you are listening."

Yoda sat, waiting. He didn't have to wait long. The training saber was powered down without hesitation, and an instant later the boy joined him.

They dove deep into a pool of sparkling light, Yoda leading and the boy following. Obi-wan didn't look back.

~~OOO~~

"How was that, Master Yoda?"

Yoda smiled at the mention of his name. It was never just 'master' with this particular child. The emphasis was on the name. And yet while he smiled at the youngling, he inwardly cringed at the verbal display of pride. The boy was skilled to be sure. Yoda just wished the child didn't _know_ the extent of his skills.

"Good, it was." Any civilian outside of the Temple would have described it as extraordinary... not merely 'good'. Yoda stared hard at the boy, gauging his reaction. In all honesty, the Jedi master had been impressed at the display of rare talent. The boy had only been training for barely over a year and was already able to deflect more bolts than many of the older initiates. His gaze flicked to a smoldering pile of metal in the corner.

Not to mention the boy's knack for targeting as well. Yoda was impressed... but not pleased. Far from it.

He turned to look at the child once more. The eyes staring back at him were hidden behind a thick piece of cloth secured around the boy's head, but Yoda had been on the receiving end of them often enough. They were a vibrant blue, very much alive, and always flashing with emotion. Often anger. Occasionally laughter. Rarely humility.

"It was better than good, Master Yoda. I think I beat my record!" The boy's voice echoed in the small salle, bouncing off the walls like the very bolts he had sent into the floor. He sounded very pleased with himself.

"No," Yoda said. "Good, it was. Average, it was. A new record, you may have, but my approval, you do not."

The blindfold was ripped off, revealing a mop of blond hair slicked down with sweat. "But I caught every single bolt!" he protested. "What did I do wrong?"

Yoda stared intently at the child, past the hurricane of emotions and into the eye of the storm. The part that wasn't so dark and violent. Here there was self-pity, there was longing, there were caged-in tears, and here there was love. Yoda longed to see this child love.

And deeper still, Yoda sensed a light the likes of which he had never felt before.

He drew back, surprised at what held it all in. "Failed, you have," he answered, his mouth set in a grim line.

"How." It was a demand, not a question.

"Afraid, you are." And Yoda was also afraid. "Afraid of disappointment, afraid of failure. Even afraid of me."

"I do not fear you." The hurricane stopped, blue eyes chilled, and the Force dropped to zero. Ice.

Yoda felt a shiver crawl up his spine. He felt cold, and suddenly alone. "Fear of what one cannot understand, one has always had," he stated. "Hear the Force, you do. Feel it, see it, use it. All of this you can do. Understand it, you do not." He watched as the boy hesitated, looked away. Slowly, the ice warmed, melting away into a pool of still relief.

But Yoda was still afraid, even when the child turned wet, pleading eyes to him once more. "May I leave now, Master Yoda?"

_Would this child always be running?_

Yoda's heart fluttered at the thought. How could he help? What should he do? But he only mustered a slight nod and what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "Wait for you, Master Obi-wan does."

The Force thrummed as Anakin's eyes brightened and a smile found its way onto his face. "Thank you, Master Yoda!" Then he fairly ran to the exit and disappeared from view.

Yoda stood there a few moments longer, struggling to fit the pieces together. And the fear still gnawed at him, clinging like a disease, because no matter how hard he tried, he could not understand how a presence that bright could be smothered by a cloud so dark.

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><p><em>Well... long time no update! But here it is! Hope you liked and please leave a review if you can spare a moment or two! :D<em>

_Have a wonderful week!_


	6. To Fall

_Contrast: a striking exhibition of unlikeness_

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><p>It wasn't a long fall, barely a few meters, but his terror was instantaneous. As were a few choice words and then one thundering bellow. "ANAKIN!"<p>

He felt a brief urge to frown at the panic that was obvious in his voice, but he didn't have time to frown. Obi-wan's landing was anything but dignified. More so a face plant into the slimy muck of the shallow pit, but Anakin was the only witness.

And his former padawan would _not_ be telling any embellishing stories of this particular incident. He would make sure of that.

He lifted his face, took a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart, and then froze at the sight of dozens of fiery orange beetles swarming towards him. _I'm going to be eaten alive... no, strike that... I'm going to be blown to smithereens._ _What a lovely way to die..._ This was _not_ good.

"Master?"

The inquiry came from above him where Anakin was standing at the edge, peering down with wide eyes. Obi-wan quickly gauged the distance the beetles still had to travel and determined that he had a few precious seconds to plan his escape.

Blast planning. "_Anakin!"_ Force, he had never sounded so helpless in his life! He rose to his feet just as the first few beetles reached him. A frantic sweep of his hand blew the insects back and slammed them into the muddy walls surrounding him.

"Jump, master!" he heard Anakin cry.

He did. Right as a few of the beetles decided to combust, releasing enough energy to imitate a couple of grenades.

So instead of leaping gracefully from the dastardly swarm of beetles, his trajectory was redirected, causing him to careen sideways, out of control, and land in a conveniently placed group of bushes.

He'd had better experiences.

With a groan of both relief and mild agony, Obi-wan rose from the thicket with a furious scowl on his face.

Anakin seemed none the worse for wear, facing him with a distorted grimace, an expression caused by a willful effort to contain a very inappropriate smirk. The barely restrained expression burst forth in the form of words instead. "Very smooth, master."

Obi-wan glared.

Anakin smiled back, eyes dancing with silent laughter.

~~OOO~~

It isn't a long fall, barely a few meters, but his grief is instantaneous. As is the rush of memories that threaten to drown him in the foreshadowing he shouldn't have missed.

_Master!_

His brother is falling towards him, a snarl across his face, lightsaber blazing sapphire. He feels the sudden urge to cry, but has no time to do so, instead lost in a sea of rage as the full force of the dark side crashes into him.

They fight, and he knows he's losing. In fact, he's already lost. Somewhere along their journey together, he lost this man in the shadows, and he has no idea where he went wrong.

_Do you love me?_

The inquiry comes from behind the two blades between them. Obi-wan doesn't quite _hear_ it, per say, but then again he does. As he dwells on it, a booted foot slams into his chest having gotten past his guard, and he flips backwards into a controlled retreat. He gauges the distance the new Sith Lord - his _brother_ - has to cover and determines that he has a few precious seconds to find an answer.

And he does, but there's no time to say it, as Anakin is already on top of him, attacking in a dazzling array of strikes. A sequence that he smoothly parries with adder-quick flicks of his blade, recognizing it as one of Anakin's favorite combinations.

But _Force_, there's so much power there! So much fury!

_Do you...?_

The inquiry is still there, caught hanging in the air around them, and as Obi-wan allows his friend to push him back, both of them caught in a seemingly endless dance, he wonders why, in the name of the almighty _Force_, Anakin has decided to ask him _now_.

And why he even bothered to ask at all. Didn't he know?

They pause, locked in a bind, the echoes of a thousand memories swept away at the meeting of their eyes. Obi-wan can feel the Force thrumming with agony, _groaning_ in a silent plea for them to stop. He makes the plea known with a desperate glance into his brother's face.

Anakin bares his teeth, lips spreading into a mad grin.

_Master... do you still love me?_

It's the whisper behind the sneer that breaks him, and Obi-wan is no more. He stares at Anakin.

Anakin glares back, eyes glinting, tinged with a sickly yellow. _Can you save me?_

Obi-wan moves then, thrusting a hand forward just as Anakin mirrors him exactly. Seconds later, they're both flying backwards and he's falling again.

It's not a long fall, barely a meter if that, but his fear is instantaneous. As is the sudden pang of loneliness.

_Yes, my friend... I still love you._

Anakin is rushing him again and again he sees yellow.

_Master, can you save me?_

He releases a silent cry to the Force for forgiveness.

_No, Anakin... I can't._

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! Please review if you can spare a few seconds! :)<em>


	7. To Remember

_Contrast: to distinguish meaning in the difference between two objects_

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><p>The sixth shot went down as smoothly as the first had and he set the glass down gently, hardly making a sound. He surveyed the small group of empty glasses and smiled grimly.<p>

It wasn't working. He'd known it wouldn't, but that had never stopped a fool from trying, and for a few hours he had conceded to being one.

_Meditate, you should._

Yoda's words. Always Yoda's words. His old master hardly ever offered any other advice towards dealing with such circumstances. As if there was only one solution and it was a simple enough solution if only he would act upon it.

And he had. And it didn't work.

And so here he was, drinking the late hours away, alone in his quarters. Lights off, presence shielded. No one was home to the world outside.

Mace Windu stared at the glasses, glanced over at the few that were left waiting. The bottle sat empty on the small table to his left, the last of its contents poured into the few remaining shots. He sighed, long and low. Barely a tendril of energy was required to quell the slight buzz that had begun to sound in the back of his head. Barely a whisper needed to clear the hazy images up, to set his senses tingling once more with plasma-riddled air and the sounds of dozens of lightsabers working in desperate harmony.

He'd known it wouldn't work. The man still stared back at him, and he could almost see dark eyes behind the tinted helmet, a shock of dark hair to match. A smile darker than both of them.

The man had been rotten.

He closed his eyes, at once seeing another face. The one his memory always jumped to next, right after a brief glimpse of the man whose head he had sent rolling.

Just a child, this one. No helmet, long hair. Innocent face, though not so innocent as Mace would like to believe. But still just a boy.

He stood abruptly, watching as every glass shattered into a million pieces. He pulled the pieces back with an irritated twitch of his hand, unwilling to let them sound against the walls and bring Force-knew how many Jedi running to his aid.

The shattered pieces pooled at his feet and he regretfully toed the edge of them. Just fragments now, and he wished that his memories of the past were the same, but they never would be.

Two years of trying to forget had left little doubt.

~~OOO~~

The second shot went down with an even louder gag than the first and he slammed the glass down on the counter, barely restraining himself from shattering it against the far wall. He glared at those nearest to him even as his face was turning red and his throat was burning, seared by the heavy dose of who knew what.

No one met his gaze, proof of what a reputation could bring, but Boba only felt the loneliness that accompanied it. No one to talk to, no one to laugh with, no one to ask for help, no one to share stories with, no one to fight by his side... just himself and his shot glass. The glass was begging for a refill, but he stubbornly pushed it aside and instead glowered at the bar top. It's surface was marred by dozens of splinters and lines carved by thousands of drinks, knives, and dirty appendages, and it was far more welcoming than the image of his father's head bouncing and rolling across the gritty sands of Geonosis.

The drinks weren't working. Kriffin' barves. They had _promised_ it would work. He eyed the glass again, guiltily noting that he hadn't had nearly enough refills for that promise to have a chance. His battered mind would gladly take a refill, but his adolescent body wasn't ready for that yet.

So, yet again, he wandered down the dreary paths of memory lane where violet light flashed in and out of existence and a certain tinted helmet just wouldn't stop tumbling through the dust.

Mace Windu would die. It was a simple objective that had no plan. As meticulous as he was about such things, this goal required no planning at all. Just a target.

He had tried once already and had failed miserably, but there would be more opportunities. It wasn't hard to track down Jedi these days. A guy only had to hop planets until a bloodied village or battlefield presented itself. Where carnage and desolation were present, Jedi were bound to be close. That's just the way it was these days.

But even though his heart screamed revenge and his mind gladly followed suit, he still wondered sometimes at the look of shock that had been thrown his way after the Jedi had slain his father. Had the man felt any regret in that moment? Any guilt?

_Yes, you killed my father you sleemo. Yes, I was only a kid. _And now, only two years later, Boba felt decades older than he was, driven into the solitary life of bounty hunting and only the heavy weight that months of war could bring.

Yes, the Jedi would die. But he knew without a doubt that he would still be fatherless, left with only the memory of a helmet rolling in the dust. Revenge wouldn't bring his father back.


	8. To Deflect

_Contrast: subtle difference_

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><p><em>"Are you an angel?"<em>

He smiles in remembrance, not for the first time wondering what his sweet wife had thought of him then. Probably just thought he was a silly child with a silly crush offering her a silly trinket in hopes he might get a kiss out of it. She had been the most beautiful girl he had ever seen at the time - and still is now - and he had spoken without thinking.

But she hadn't laughed. He _does_ remember that, and it warms him up every time he thinks about it.

"What are you thinking?"

He glances over, smiling softly at his Padme, drawing a slight smile in return as she prepares to pour them both tea. "You." Internally, he has to chuckle at the exchange. If Obi-wan could only see them now... he would offer some crack about them being cheesy romantics making eyes at one another.

The tea reminds him of Obi-wan and his smile fades. He hates keeping their marriage a secret, especially from his best friend, but he can't shake the feeling in his gut that says Obi-wan would always choose duty first. But even before friendship? He can't possibly be that heartless... maybe they should -

"Anakin?" Padme looks concerned now and she walks over, a steaming mug of tea in each hand. She offers him one without saying anything else.

He loves her for it. For drawing him out.

Someone else he knows has a knack for that particular talent as well... he sighs. Long and hard. Runs a hand through his shaggy hair. "Should we tell him?"

He can tell that she already knows who he's referring to. After all, she's known the man even longer than he has, and yet he can tell that she's unsure about it too. "We've already had this conversation, Ani..." she tries to deflect, eyes dropping to scour her tea for Force knew what.

Yes, they'd talked this over many, _many_ times, and each time the conclusion was always the same. He sighs again, patting the cushion next to him. When she sits down, he throws an arm around her shoulders, draws her in so they can both feed off the other's presence. "I know, angel..." He swallows, content to let her take the lead, draw them somewhere more comfortable. "How did the Senate hearing go today?"

She makes a face and he can't help but chuckle. "Only _you _would be bold enough to ask."

~~OOO~~

_"Do you love me?"_

The memory makes him smile slightly. He'd been much too reckless back then, prone to reckless abandonment that he'd never get away with today. A quick glance at the younger man seated in his apartment's dining area makes him reconsider. Of course he could. He'd just blame it on his former padawan's influence...

But no. He'd learned to temper his passion a long time ago, and now that he thinks about it, he wonders if it's such a good thing.

_"I'm insulted you even have to ask."_

And _that_... that just makes him want to grin like an idiot. And laugh outright. She'd been such a spitfire, that one, and he wonders how on earth he had managed to draw her attention.

"What are you thinking about?"

He looks up, distracted by the question, and almost forgets to set the kettle down before the mug overflows with hot tea. "A friend," he deflects, hoping with everything in him that Anakin will just let it go.

"A friend... girl?" Anakin asks, waggling his eyebrows, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Why was he _such_ an open book to this man? He glares at his former padawan, which only earns him a smirk and a gesture towards the tea. "Well, come on master, get the tea over here and let's talk women. I've been waiting a looooong time for this conversation."

He snorts, slightly put off. Nevertheless, he walks over and gives Anakin his tea before taking a seat of his own. "You would, you lovesick gundark."

His friend feigns a surprised look - but is it really fake? - and gestures dramatically. "Who me?"

He rolls his eyes at that, relieved that Anakin has allowed the deflection - thought not on purpose, he can tell - and a little hurt by the surprise. As if he can't recognize love when he sees it. "Yes you," he accuses, jabbing a finger in the man's general direction. "I've seen the way you look at her. 'Smitten' would be an understatement."

Anakin swallows, looks away, stops smiling. "Jedi don't love, master."

And suddenly he knows that this is important, for both of them. A truth that he needs to settle upon, define clearly, let him see. He watches the man fidget for a moment, a bit amused, but mostly saddened.

She had been just as passionate, just as bold, but not quite as afraid. He misses her.

"What makes you so sure about that?" he questions.

Anakin's eyes snap back, flicking over to settle on him once more. There's hope there, for a second. He sees it, but then it's gone just as quickly and his friend smiles again. An empty smile that makes him hurt. "What's this mission you were going to ask me about?"

It's a clear deflection, blunt and desperate. He can see the desperation, and it's confirmation of what he's known for so long. Why doesn't the man trust him to understand? "Right. The mission," he answers, falling into a place where they're both comfortable, though even here the footing is becoming tenuous. He sighs. "The Council has asked me to go to Utapau..."

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><p><em>Please review and have a wonderful day! :)<em>


	9. To Put On and Take Off

_Contrast: to make note of opposite natures/purposes_

* * *

><p>All he felt was fire. Hot and liquid, searing his legs, his back, his chest, face, arms, everything... <em>Force<em>, he hurt! And worse, there were things being stuck into him. Cold, pointy things that also burned, but as ice, not fire. He was getting the worst of both worlds, and contrary to what Obi-wan thought, they did _not_ cancel each other out.

It was just twice the pain.

_"Good. Twice the pride, double the fall."_

Something sharp dug into where his forearm used to be and he jerked, hissing in pain, but it didn't pull out. It just dug in further and cold, metal fingers clamped down on his body, holding him still.

He opened his eyes, finally managing to push all of the pain back for just a moment, just enough to see what sort of predicament he'd gotten himself into this time -

"_Kriff!"_ Blinding light, so bright he had to squeeze his eyes shut again, and even that hurt. He groaned, feeling the sweat pool and roll down his body, eliciting sharper cries from him. His skin felt crusty and scabbed over, but it was still tender, almost like he had been...

It all came back and the weight of what he'd done along with it. It hurt worse than the agony his body was suffering. Darkness flooded into his mind, raced through his veins, ate away at his soul.

The light that had blinded him grew dim for a second and then stayed that way. He cracked his eyes open, suddenly afraid and angry all at once. Something black was descending upon him. Shiny, hard, and racing with scarlet bits of light. A small part of who he used to be told him that it was part of a life-sustaining system of sorts. That he needed this thing to live.

_They'll bow before you, quivering in fear. You will own them..._ He wanted to embrace it. He wanted to finally accept what was rightfully his. This was what he deserved. Power. Over everyone.

But before he did, he remembered.

_"You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you!"_

He couldn't tell if it was tears stinging his face, or more beads of sweat, but he clung to that small bit of light even as his breath grew quicker, and his thoughts entered back into the shadows.

_I will own them._

Who, exactly?

The mask descended and his world was awash with red, as if everything was bleeding out and dying. He knew with certainty that it would always look like this, that he would forever be stuck in it.

And there truly was no one left. The Order was dead, his master was dead, the entire galaxy was as good as dead and he would rule in fear.

He stood, still wobbly and stiff, pain slicing sharply up and down his body, like a thousand needles shoved into his bones all at once.

He ignored it, fixing his eyes on the creature before him.

"Where is Padme?"

He didn't know why he asked. Hope, maybe? He still had a slight hold on the light, and she was the source of it now, because he'd remembered that the man who'd been his father had turned away and left him to burn.

There was no answer, and he pressed forward, taking one shaky step. "Is she safe? Is she alright?"

The words felt like acid coming from his mouth, and they sounded worse. He didn't recognize his own voice, but he knew it was his. Still he ignored all of this, focused on the wrinkled mass in front of him.

Darkness personified.

"It seems in your anger... you killed her," it rasped.

And that was it. It was over. There was no more light, there was no more hope, there was no more dreaming of what could have been.

Anakin finally shattered into a million pieces.

And Darth Vader burst forth, roaring in fury, reaching out to crush everything in a single, iron grip of sheer power. Machinery sparked and groaned. Droids split apart and slammed into walls. The Force itself cried out, shrieking for mercy.

The slimy, muddled creature grinned in delight, displaying stained, rotting teeth. This was his victory, and he would relish it.

~~OOO~~

He feels numb, as in _cold_. The suit hides the tremble running up and down his giant frame, but it's there nonetheless and he can't make it stop. He can barely _breathe_, for Force's sake! Who knew that fire could ever be so _cold_... but that's what it is. He had taken the full brunt of it, had felt it slice and tear its way through his circuits, frying everything important and leaving his shriveled body with enough energy to last a few precious minutes.

And they truly are precious.

_"Father!"_

Something is digging up underneath his arms and he's suddenly being dragged across the floor. Normally, the contact and the movement would have caused pain to flare through him, but now he feels nothing, because it takes everything in him to just breathe in and breathe out.

_Just a little longer,_ he prays.

Then he's leaning back, being pushed against a wall and he cracks his eyes open. There is his son. Quivering smile, brilliant hope flaring in intense blue eyes. He knows they're blue even though he's still seeing red.

"Luke..." He takes a breath, hoping it's enough. "Help me get this mask off." _Please, stop the bleeding..._

The boy protests almost before he's finished. "But you'll die -"

_Finally._

"Nothing... can stop that now." _Thank the Force._

Luke hesitates before reaching forward, and the light that had been so dim for so long suddenly brightens at the edges and bursts into glorious beauty. It blinds him for a short moment and leaves him breathless. The shadows are clear and he can _see_ again. Actually _see._

_You are free, child..._

Fear seizes him again, because how can he be free of such a weight? The darkness doesn't release people so easily. He knows this. He _remembers_ this. He lived it.

_"Rise, Lord Vader."_

Can it be this easy? Every inch of him screams that it isn't, but the boy looking at him, both anguish and joy battling across his childish face, tells him without words that it is. It is this easy. The dragon is dead and he's still alive. Torn to pieces, but alive.

He glances at the mangled, fried piece of metal that had clouded his vision for so long. The thing is dead. The world is no longer awash in red and he blinks, fighting back tears that he didn't think were still in him. He catches his boy's gaze and all he sees is quiet amazement there.

Not fear. Not disgust. Not anger.

Amazement. Compassion, even. And a hint of sadness.

He just knows his attempt at a smile fell epically short of what he had intended, but it gets a small grin out of his son anyway. "I've got to save you," the kid says, voice quiet, yet surprisingly clear.

The kid can't be no more than twenty, but there's a maturity there beyond his years. His heart, while close to stopping altogether, finds the strength to clench a bit in regret.

And then suddenly he's awash with the feeling. It's all there. Regret, guilt, loneliness, utter despair... but it's gone just as soon as it arrived, because his son is still staring at him in desperate hope as if he can pull off another miracle.

Luke doesn't seem to understand the gravity of what he's already done.

So Anakin, no longer burdened by Vader's limitless hatred, offers a simple explanation. The situation is all wrong, he thinks, for his first teaching moment. But it will be his last as well, and so he knows he can't worry too much about it. His son is looking down at him when he should be looking up, but at least he is the one dying. It is all very humbling, he admits.

But he's grateful. "You already have," he manages to gasp.

The cold shrivels away as his heart finally slows its last, valiant attempt to keep him alive. Warmth floods through him, stealing his breath and leaving what's left of his flesh tingling with excitement.

_I'm going home._

To who, exactly? To what?

But he knows.

Luke grants him a shadow of a smile then, but the warmth running through his bones seems to multiply at the sight of it. It's a fine send off, one he most certainly doesn't deserve.

There's no time for further contemplation, though, since his pulse stills and everything grows dim and then darkens altogether.

It should have been painful. It should have been extended, merciless.

But it's not. Anakin wakes to dazzling color, brilliant light, and the faces of those he'd thought he'd lost. This is no victory.

It's redemption. It's forgiveness.

And he will cherish it forever.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! :)<em>

_Please review if you feel like it!_


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